“CAN a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.”
One bitterly cold night last winter, a poor prodigal found his way to his mother's door, hungry, wet, and cold. He timidly knocked, and feebly but earnestly said, "Mother, dear mother, let me in.”
“I dare not," she replied; “I cannot.
My landlord threatened to turn me out if ever I took you in again; you know what a disturbance you made last time, coming home so drunk.”
“Oh, mother!” the young man answered, “I am starved through and through, I have nowhere to go to, and I shall perish with the cold; I have a shilling, and I will let you have it if you only let me lie on the hearth.”
The mother still refused, saying, "You must leave my door, and cause me no more annoyance.”
The poor prodigal slowly and sadly dragged himself away. Where was he to go? What was he to do? Every door was closed; all hope seemed gone. He betook himself to some neighboring lime-kilns in search of warmth or shelter. But alas! his worst foreboding proved true. On the following morning his body was found where he had laid down, stiff and cold in death.
Reader, you too may be a prodigal; you may have wandered far from your Heavenly Father's home. Have you any lingering desire to return?
Oh! let me tell you how infinitely different will be your reception from that of this misguided son. You will find, if you only return, your Father's door wide open. Even now He is yearning over you, and waiting to receive you. By the time you take the 'first homeward step, He will be already on the road, and running to meet you. There is waiting for you the kiss of forgiving love, no closed door, no refusal shall meet you, but a gracious welcome to the choicest blessings of complete salvation. Will you come, and come now? H. M. C.